


a night to himself

by icantdowithoutyou (asofterkit)



Category: EastEnders (TV)
Genre: Bottom Ben Mitchell, Dildos, Edging, M/M, Masturbation, Nipple Play, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-13
Updated: 2020-07-12
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:27:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24703045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asofterkit/pseuds/icantdowithoutyou
Summary: Two solo scenes from the beginning of their relationship, the first from Callum's pov, the second from Ben's. (Read the tags, it's exactly what it says on the tin!)
Relationships: Callum "Halfway" Highway/Ben Mitchell
Comments: 33
Kudos: 88





	1. callum's night to himself

**Author's Note:**

> **Rated Explicit for graphic sexual content, please don't read if you're under 18.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Technically* part of iwjttstn if you squint, for those looking for a tie-in, this is what Callum was talking about when he told Ben what he got up to two nights ago during chapter 5.

Callum calls Ben for the third time in an hour and sends another text to explain that he was just hoping to see him tonight. He doesn’t want to look desperate but if he’s being honest, desperate is exactly how he’s feeling right now. 

He calls again and it goes to voicemail and he stays on the line to hear Ben’s voice, _This is Ben Mitchell_ , just the sound of his name spoken in his gruff voice is enough to make Callum have to lean against his bedroom wall. 

_Don't matter_ , he sends when he's given up, _I was just hoping I could come over... x_ Well, maybe he hasn’t given up entirely.

He pushes his small chest of drawers against the door, he should really get a lock, it’s not like Stuart is likely to come in but he wants to be able to relax and take his time since he apparently has the night to himself. 

He strips off his jeans and jumper and lays on the bed in his boxer shorts and t-shirt. The TV is blaring in the living room but the last thing he needs is for it to be turned off in the middle of things and to be overheard so he puts on some music and turns it up loud. 

_Cut Me Loose_ plays as he settles himself, his heart skips over the lyric, _Don't wanna see all the things that you're into_. It's true, he doesn't care right now, he just wants Ben. He’d do anything to have him here. But he isn’t here so he’ll have to make do.

He hikes up his t-shirt and circles his nipples with the pads of his thumbs. The image in his mind is clear, he can’t stop thinking about how perfect Ben looks when he comes, how his eyes roll back and he bites his lip, sometimes drawing blood when he’s fresh from a fight. Ben always shoots past his face, he’s always so uncontained. His mind wanders to how Ben shakes through the come down, deep full body tremors that wrack his whole body.

He tugs hard on his nipples and loses himself in the memory of Ben's ring hitting the ridge of the head of his dick, his eyes intense as he watched him lose control. He slaps a hand over his hard nipple and hisses and does it again, sharp snaps over sensitive skin that make his dick bounce and leak in his shorts. He pinches both nipples as hard as he can and a wave runs through him just as his phone buzzes and it feels like a sign, like the stars have aligned. He grabs it, _please be Ben please be Ben_. But it isn't. He keeps his phone in his hand and opens his camera roll and scrolls to the picture he loves, Ben sitting in the Vic with his legs spread wide, a wry smile on his face. He’s so gorgeous, Callum knows he won’t last more than a few seconds if he’s looking at him so he slides his phone back onto the nightstand.

He has to pull his shorts down carefully. The cool air of the bedroom hits his burning dick and makes him involuntarily buck his hips. He pulls his shorts off all the way and kneels up on the bed to gain back some control. He leaves his shirt on but pushes it over his head and catches it behind his neck, the pull of the fabric across his back and under his arms feels good. He leaves it so he can quickly quell things if he starts getting too close, he knows he wouldn’t have the self restraint to put it back on, you have to plan ahead for moments of weakness. 

He feels too close already so he hesitantly runs his hands over his body to try and move away from the edge without going crazy for lack of touch. The memory of Ben taking him all the way down to the back of his throat makes his dick spew a heavy glob of precum onto his sheets. He shakes his head to clear it and breathes deeply. He keeps touching, fingers finding hidden spots and then he dares to rub his nipples again and he falls forward, only just putting his hands out in time to keep from crashing into the headboard.

He flops down onto his back again and tugs his balls to try and relieve some of the pressure and holds onto the sheets. A trickle of sweat runs along his temple. He pulls his t-shirt back from behind his neck and rubs his nipples through it, the dulled sensation is mind numbing and he grimaces in frustration, sometimes something is not better than nothing. He rolls his hips and the need to touch his achingly hard dick is almost unbearable. He lifts his hand and caresses his hips, his thighs, his stomach, all the while carefully avoiding his dick. It’s pure torture that makes his toes curl.

All he can think about is Ben. Ben Ben Ben. He’s been the only thing on his mind since the first time he saw him and now he's had a taste it only makes it harder to get through nights like this. 

He rubs his hands over his chest, palms grazing his nipples, keeping the mantra of a little but not enough. He knows he's not experienced but Ben still shakes when he comes, it has to mean that Callum makes him lose control, that he has this power over him. The thought makes his skin prickle with electricity. He rolls his nipples in between his fingers and thrusts into the air, the bass of the music swelling in his chest. He feels part animal like he does with Ben, like he’s tapped into something primal, essential; he has to believe Ben feels it too.

He flicks his nipples, gently at first, then harder and a hot jet of precum rolls down his dick. He takes it onto his fingers and uses it to tease his hard nipples, the slip around the delicate skin takes on a direct line to his dick and he has to turn his face into the pillow to stifle his moans. He keeps one hand on his nipple and dares to grab his dick and his back lifts off the bed like he's possessed, his body taken over, no longer his own. He slicks his finger across the hard peak of his nipple as his hand slides over the head of his dick and it takes all his willpower to let go, to hold onto the sheets instead as a deep, deep powerful sensation spreads outwards from his belly, molten hot, and then abates. He turns his head from the smothering heat of his pillow and breathes hard. His dick jerks and strains for attention but he won't give in. 

His phone buzzes and he grabs for it, knocking it off his bedside table onto the floor. He rolls over to retrieve it and the soft cool of the sheets on his burning dick and raw nipples makes him cry out. He isn't about to come humping the bed so he swipes up his phone and rolls onto his back. It's not Ben. The thought that maybe something has happened to him crosses his mind but he'd have heard, he's sure of it, bad news travels fast. 

Callum doesn't like it that Ben is probably out doing something he shouldn’t be, he wants better for him, and yet he can't help but feel a thrill at the same time. He doesn't know where Ben is but wherever he is, he belongs to him. And, no, love isn't about possession, he knows that, but they can pretend it is in bed. He is fully Ben’s tonight even though he isn't here. Ben fills his head.

He starts again from scratch, slowly and gently circling his nipples with his fingers and then smooths his hands over his body, trailing his fingers across his belly button and thighs. It tickles in a way that makes him shiver.

He spreads his legs and is immediately struck with a familiar fantasy; Ben fucking him and how amazing he imagines it would feel. He twists his nipple and grasps his dick without thinking, pure instinct taking over. He strokes hard, his whole body tense, muscles working together to hold him rigid, focusing everything on the swell of pleasure building, building. He imagines Ben on top of him, going hard, his broad powerful shoulders and those perfect arms enveloping him as he ruts and grunts, Callum moving with him, taking it, because he can take whatever Ben gives, the two of them dripping with sweat, Ben single minded like a machine. It's all he wants, except that isn't true, actually he wants everything.

It feels good, so fucking good. His dick leaks onto his stomach and he's close but it's not time yet. He snaps back to reality, lets go, and falls back onto the bed with a groan. He grits his teeth to try and stop himself from moving. He whines in frustration when his dick pulses but he keeps holding still, staring at the ceiling, waiting until the intensity of his need has lessened. All he can hear is the ticking of his clock and the thumping of his heart. 

When his breathing has slowed to normal, he slicks up his fingers with precum and draws an experimental line from his balls down, shuddering uncontrollably as his fingers slip across sensitive skin. He thought he was far enough from the edge for this but it’s so good it makes his vision blur. He half sits so he can push harder, does it again and grunts loudly despite himself as a spark of pleasure ignites something deep inside. He slips his finger against his hole and thinks of the way Ben's eyes roll back when he teases him like this and he gets it now, his body pulls itself in and burns where it holds. He presses in experimentally, just enough to feel the stretch and flicks his nipple at the same time and he convulses and ends up bent double over himself.

He falls back down onto the bed and tightens the muscles in his legs, knees spread, and tries to remember to breathe. He twists his nipple as he fists his dick, pulling his body in with all his strength. He imagines Ben on top of him, inside of him, hands everywhere. He holds himself taut, squeezes inwards harder still and presses himself down towards the heavy sensation spreading through him; it feels like a deep ache mingled with relief, like he’s found a way to wake up every part of his body. 

He arches his back and thrusts into his own hand and tightens his grip so it’s hard work but worth it. Then the feeling rises, his dick tingles with it in pulsating white hot flashes that send shockwaves through his whole body. He keeps moving, his thrusts becoming erratic, he doesn’t let the image go, he can see Ben clear as anything on top of him. He tugs on his nipple with as much force as he can and then loses control completely, his hands working for him. He turns and hides his face in his pillow again to dampen his moans. He lets go of his dick and fumbles his hand back against his hole and traces circles and strokes the stretch of skin up to his balls.

His hand slips over his sweat sheened chest and he instantly regrets the loss of stimulation and so he slaps his nipple with the flat of his hand and the crack of skin on skin makes him fizz and pushes him over the precipice.

Cum shoots across his chest and he grabs his dick again, bucking his hips wildly. His dick throbs with every spurt and he thrusts and thrusts, his body taking over, trying to squeeze out every last drop. His muscles scream as he pushes higher and higher but the pain just mingles with the ecstasy and amplifies it. 

He falls into the sheets when he can’t go on any longer, legs fallen open, the aftershocks making him shudder. He feels weightless the way you do when you’ve been carrying something heavy and you finally get to put it down. He slides a finger between his legs and finds his hole again and, with just the tip of his finger pressing against it, he squeezes his muscles experimentally and a second wave of pleasure washes through him and then abates. He tries again and the feeling is lesser but still good, so good, he doesn’t stop until he feels like he’s finally eked out every ounce of it. 

Every time he’s been with Ben it’s been like this, intense beyond words, he didn’t think he could get there on his own. He wants to do everything with Ben but, right now, he just wishes he was in his arms.

He rolls over and wraps himself in his duvet. He has no idea how loud he was but he tries to push the worry from his mind which is easy done because he’s tired, dead tired like he can barely keep his eyes open tired. He manages to turn off the music and set his alarm for the morning and get properly under the covers. He falls asleep with the lamp on and his phone unplugged, it’s not like him to be so sloppy but he feels totally powerless against the oncoming onslaught of sleep.

He wakes up early and feels wobbly when he tries to sit up so he stays on his back for a moment and lets himself feel the scratch of the sheets against his raw nipples and reaches down to squeeze his half hard dick. God, he really needs a shower and coffee and sugar but the last thing he wants to do is get out of bed. 

He picks up his phone and reads a new message from Ben. _Sorry we missed each other, got caught up at work. Drinks on Friday? x_ He bites his lip at the memory of last night.

If Ben only knew what he’d missed out on. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!


	2. ben's night to himself

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ben and Callum have been dating for a little over two weeks and it's going great but tonight he needs something he doesn't feel ready to ask Callum for. (You should know the drill by now but otherwise please read the tags!)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven't looked a the layout of the car lot office - you may have to suspend your disbelief a bit depending on how wrong I got it.
> 
> Set after chapter 4 of iwjttstn (the booty call/open communication chapter) if you're looking for a tie in - I know this is late but better late than never, ey? Otherwise just go by the summary.

_ **15th October 2019, 11.13pm** _

There’s nobody else around on the street as Ben heads to the car lot and he’s grateful for it, he doesn’t want to be seen right now, he just wants to get off and hopefully be so well fucked after that he’ll get a decent kip for once. He locks the office door behind him and rattles the handle to make sure it's definitely locked because he wants to be able to really relax into this. He can't do a fucking thing at home. 

He should get his own place but that would mean committing to here, to this life. He'd be signing on the dotted line, swearing that he wouldn’t run away ever again. At least this way everyone's together in Walford and if he needs to go again his family will be able to look after each other and he won’t have to worry about his kid calling some Geordie twat, “dad”.

He realises he's pacing and stops himself, grabs his own reins and forces himself to sit down on his desk. He wants to call Callum and tell him what he needs but he can’t. Not yet. The stress of keeping Martin under thumb, it’s exhilarating when he’s in the moment but at night he’s left with masses of nervous energy and no outlet. Before he’d have downloaded an app and found someone to hook up with but that hasn’t felt like an option for months now.

He grabs at himself between his legs through his jeans but he feels nothing, it’s not even as exciting as squeezing his arm. Shit.

Vodka, he needs vodka, he rolls over his desk into the bottom drawer of the filing cabinet and pulls out a bottle of the good shit, none of your paint stripper bollocks, and takes a swig. There's something about downing something meant to be savoured that makes him feel more himself. It calms him enough that when he presses a hand along his body, he doesn’t feel numb anymore, he feels good.

The door is locked, the Square is dark and quiet. It’s just him. The thought catches in his chest and he decides to put the radio on low. 

He collapses down onto the couch and throws one leg up on the backrest and the other he plants on the floor. He starts slow, he has to or it’ll be over in minutes and the whole point of this was to get out of his own head for a bit. Using the palm of his hand, he rubs his bulge until he’s hard and keeps going through thick denim until he’s aching. 

There’s only one person on his mind. There’s only been one person on his mind for months, since April, actually. It was impossible to shake him then but now that he’s had a taste it’s a complete lost cause.

Callum is so many things at once. Ben once saw him drenched in cider and heard Mick telling him he couldn't believe he’d fucked up changing the tap for a third time. So he gets why people think he’s a bit of a melt but they’re wrong, they’re so dead wrong. Then again they’ve never been shoved back by him, held down by him, they’ve never seen that look in his eyes.

He unzips his jeans and pushes his hand inside and his fingers scrape across the fabric of his boxers and then he slips his hand inside them too and clasps his dick. 

Ben knows that Callum wants to take all his intensity, all his bottled rage and sadness and pin his wrists with it and turn it into something else. And Ben wants that too. He wants to get to know Callum, all of him, he wants them to ruin each other. 

He stares at the ceiling, lost in thought.

Fuck. 

He scratches at his stubble to try and ground himself back in his body, his dick has gone soft in his hand but he leaves his hand in his jeans, the pressure a kind of comfort. If he’s just going to lie here doing nothing then he may as well go home and he doesn’t want to go home so he takes out his phone and looks for something to watch. There’s one video he likes, a tall bloke with ears like Callum’s fucking some twink. He doesn’t move like Callum, Ben reckons Callum wouldn’t hold back at all, wouldn’t give a shit if it looked pretty so long as it made Ben squirm, but he still feels a stirring watching it. 

With the volume still way up, he drops his phone onto the seat and the sound of loud exaggerated moaning and skin slapping against skin clashes perfectly with the radio and creates the kind of chaos that helps him block out his thoughts. 

They get it all wrong in porn, it’s all too perfect. Callum makes this noise, this gorgeous wrecked sobbing noise in the back of his throat as if there are multitudes pent up inside of him and every so often Ben strikes at something that releases that beautiful, most singular sound. It’s hotter than any over the top moan he’s ever heard. 

How do you tell someone you want to destroy them so they can destroy you?

He pushes his jeans off his hips and pulls his dick free of his boxers and the cool air, skin on skin, it all feels so fucking good and he finally lets his eyes fall closed. His thoughts drift back to Callum as he strokes his dick. Callum is the most practical man he knows, he’ll tell you something straight, he didn’t even flinch when Ben was shot, he’ll spit in his hand and wank you off messy and slippery and fuck, his hand moves faster thinking about it. 

Callum does this thing, he winds his hand up and down real slow. Ben begrudgingly takes his hand off his dick and spits in his palm and fuck, it feels better wet, he’s right, he is. It’s not as good as when Callum's big hand is wrapped around him but it’s still better like this. As he twists his hand he closes his eyes tightly and tries to picture Callum kneeling in service to him on the grimy carpet looking down on him, a corkscrew grip on Ben's dick. He noticed his hands the first day they met, offered his own to shake not out of politeness but just to feel his grip. 

You’d be hard pressed to find another bloke so willing to hold you down his first time. Enough guys are willing to kneel in the dirt of a park in the dead of night, not so many stick around after they’ve come to make your legs buckle again and again, fewer still will stick their tongue down your throat at goodbye and leave you gagging for more.

He uses his free hand to squeeze his balls and he’ll come like this if he doesn’t stop himself, he never did have any self control. He'd put money on Callum being the type to edge himself for hours, a king of patience and denial. He should find out sometime, he should ask for a show.

A trickle of precum slides along the head of his dick and he runs his finger through it and, fuck, his body jumps and bangs against the couch. He uses his free hand to grab his own wrist and yank his hand away while he still can. 

Hauling himself up, he takes a few deep breaths and goes to lean on the edge of his desk, taking absurd tiny steps with his trousers caught around his ankles. Ah well, one of the perks of being alone is not having to worry what the fuck you look like.  
  
He kicks off his running shoes and takes off his jeans and spreads his legs as far as he can and just sits for a moment looking down at his dick and his parted thighs. He’s big, not as big as Callum but he’s never had any complaints. For a weedy little kid who was on the losing end of every fight, he didn’t do too bad for himself. He takes another swig of vodka, mostly just to feel his mouth around something and for the burn of it and then he leans into his bag to get his lube.

He shuffles right to the lip of his desk and balances one foot on the edge of the open filing cabinet drawer he retrieved the bottle from. When he’s steadied himself he drips out a dollop of lube and slowly works a finger inside himself. He loosened himself up a little in the shower before he came here, the only reason he didn’t end up spoiling his plans and going over the edge then and there was Ian knocking on the door and yelling at him to hurry up. 

Even just one finger feels so good, it's been a while since he did this and he forgot just how much he loves it. His dick twitches when he pushes a second finger inside and bounces frantically when he works in a third. Fuck he loves how that looks, fingers disappeared inside of him and a long trail of precum dripping onto the floor at his feet.

Even though he knows that nobody’s coming, he still glances to the door and feels a pang of disappointment at the sight of it still bolted shut. The worst part is he knows that if he just called Callum now he’d come, he knows he’d be here in a heartbeat. Eyes falling closed, he imagines him walking in, taking Ben’s wrist and yanking his hand away, pushing his long fingers inside him instead, one hand at his throat, towering over him, blue eyes turned from still pools to dark and unreadable.

Callum would kiss him and he’d make it all feel brand new because it was new for one of them and he has this way of making Ben feel clean and good and-- He pulls his fingers free and the image of Callum dissipates.

He fists his dick just to lose himself in the feeling, head thrown back, his leg rattling the metal dividers in the drawer. He loves sex, all of it, everything from wanking to fucking, it’s the only way he knows how to stop the storm in his head and connect back with his body. And it can be a punishment too, it can be anything he needs and Callum seems to get that too. Another man might have run after their first kiss, Callum went straight for his belt.

He lets go of his dick and grabs the desk to have something to hold as he backs off from the edge. There wasn’t any point coming here if he was only going to have a common or garden wank that would have played out just the same under his duvet.

He fishes around in his bag for the dildo he brought and the sight of it makes him laugh, he really took time searching through his toys to find the one closest to Callum in length and girth and looking at it now in the almost dark he can’t help but see the absurdity in that. He wonders if Callum would think it was romantic; he probably would, knowing Callum.

He teases his hole with the head of the dildo and feels it warm up against his hot skin. He never bottoms, well, sometimes. Rarely. Only with blokes he’s seen a few times. It's not really even about connection, it's about having a bit of trust.

There was this hookup back in May, he saw him a handful of times and he got fucked by him on his last visit a month later. He had real stamina but Ben’s mind kept wandering back to Callum and that was dangerous. Face down, smothered in a pillow in a nice hotel room, that Ben had paid for mind you, being pounded by a bloke with great pecs - really he had one of those bodies you don’t often see in real life - and a porn star dick with a perfect curve, and there Ben was choking back Callum’s name.

Whatever. It’s better with feelings anyway. They don’t tell you that, or they do and it’s something Ben didn’t want to believe. Or admit to. The feelings part but also the truth that he wants to feel, that he wants the feeling of giving up and giving over that only comes with a real connection. You can’t force it, can’t fake it... can’t stop it.

He slaps the dildo against his hole and presses against it then pulls back and round and round until he's on the verge of begging himself to get the fuck on with it and then he stops completely. He's trying to be a bit more Callum, a bit more the good soldier who doesn't just smash through everything at a hundred miles a minute.

When his heart rate is back to normal, he pushes the head inside and can’t stop the moan that escapes his lips at the bright ring of pleasure that radiates through him. Callum has this way with him, this ability to step outside himself. Sometimes that means you walk in on him taking ridiculous selfies when he thinks nobody’s looking, sometimes it means he can look down the barrel of a gun or run into a train tunnel without even a hint of fear, it also means that he can give you what you need and take what he needs without holding back. He reckons he'd fuck him wild and hard even on the first try. He pushes the dildo in a little further. Yeah, he reckons Callum would have him bent in half and howling by now.

He cups his balls as he jiggles the dildo and the feeling makes him cry out, even with the blunt plastic barely two inches inside. Fuck. It keeps flashing into his mind that this is how big his man is and he can't stop his heart from beating out of control at the thought.

He pulls the dildo free and moves to sit in his chair with his legs up on the desk. He likes the way his legs look spread open like this and he takes his time caressing his inner thighs, imagining his fingertips were Callum’s. 

He gropes around for the lube and pours a little more onto the dildo, too much and there’s no friction and the friction is what makes it mind melting. It's not easy to get it right, he's been with a few blokes who turned fucking into a slip n slide and honestly what's the point.

He presses the dildo against his hole and wriggles in his chair until he gets the right angle to bury the head. He stops to breathe and feel the stretch before he drives it all the way inside of him. The feeling of fullness is magnificent, almost unbearable. He holds onto the back of the chair and imagines it’s a headboard as he thrusts in and out, twisting the dildo in hard and deep, so deep that he can almost fucking taste it.

He doesn't bother holding back, if someone passes by and hears him then it's their fucking fault for listening in. 

He stills his hand and keeps the dildo pressed inside firm and deep and contracts his muscles around it, when he grabs his dick it's almost too much and he grits his teeth, struggling to stay on this side of the precipice. It’s too hard, too much, he lets go of his dick and takes hold of the chair again and makes a silent pact with himself that his dick is off limits from now on.

He starts to rock his hips with the dildo held still and finds a slow, steady rhythm. His mouth falls open and he lets his head flop back and fuck he could do this all night if he only had to discipline but he doesn't and he starts to bounce his hips, just slightly at first but he quickly grows frantic, the chair groaning beneath him. 

Even if he wanted to, he wouldn't be able to quell the stream of obscenities falling from his lips. It’s hard to let go like this with someone else, to not care about looking wild and desperate and out of control. There’s a few reasons he doesn’t bottom much and this is one of them, it drives him crazy, the stretch and the friction, it feels like nothing else, he’s one of those guys you hear about who can come handsfree nine times outta ten, a dream lay. But it feels too much like baring his soul, he has to be in the zone and that means getting out of his own head which usually means getting off his head first. It just isn't worth the hassle most of the time.

It’s going to be different with Callum, if he lets it be different with him.

He draws the dildo all the way out and taps it against his hole and hears himself whisper _please_ like he isn’t the only one here. He presses it in again and his legs jerk and bang on the table, he’s such a fucking slut for this.

The last bloke he dated told him to get rid of his toys - he didn't, obviously. He reckons Callum wouldn’t be jealous at all, he reckons he’d get it. He spent long enough fantasising to understand it isn't about not getting it good enough elsewhere, it's about going as far as you can go. It’s about pushing yourself. Experimenting. 

He slides the dildo out and twists it back in and imagines Callum pinning him down and fucking him with a vibrator, making him beg. The patience of a saint and those big hands. The thought of Callum ramming his huge dick down his throat as Ben squirms on a vibrator turned up to eleven appears in his head clear as day and no matter how hard or fast he slams the dildo inside himself, it can't match the intensity of the fantasy. 

Fuck it he should just call him.

It’s been two weeks, he thinks then. Just two weeks. It's too fast for this bullshit, it's too soon to show him this. 

Just two weeks and he’s already had him in his bed, just two weeks and he’s got him to come to his house around midnight to suck his dick. Callum’s a good boy, yeah, anyone would tell you that, but he doesn’t have any qualms about rolling out of his flat past his bedtime for a late night hookup, so basically he’s perfect. 

God they’re going to do everything, they’re going to get to everything, they’re going to do it all and fast and just get better and better; and normally that would make him afraid but right now that part of his brain is switched off. He’s working furiously, thrashing his hips and plunging the dildo deep inside at the same time and all he can think about are the good parts of this, of the gorgeous man he gets to call his own.

Sweat trickles down his back even though it's cold inside the office. The creak of the chair and the squeak of his heels slipping across the veneer of the desk make him feel dirty, make the whole thing feel even more obscene. This would drive Callum wild, he's seen the way he watches him, the way he’s _been_ watching him for months now. Fuck he wishes he was here.

The way Callum moaned when he first held Ben’s dick, louder even than when Ben got his hands on him told him everything he needed to know about how badly Callum wanted to feel the skin of another man and how desperately he wanted Ben.

He turns his head into his arm and watches the muscles strain in his taut bicep as he grips the chair back. Callum told him that he loves his arms and he can picture Callum gripping his arm, his fingers sinking in painfully as he fucks him hard and deep.   
  
With his muscles straining and only a few fingers gripping the chair, he feels like he’s levitating. He knows that if he falls and dies Jay won’t even be vaguely surprised to find him like this. He’d say Ben had the death he would’ve wanted, that he died as he lived, drooling over cock. He laughs at the thought and the intake of breath makes the pleasure surge through his belly and thighs. He's close, so close and he doesn't want to hold back. He's sick of holding himself back.

He finds the thread of his climax and follows it, his dick bobbing up and down, spilling precum and completely destroying his shirt but he doesn’t want to let go of the chair, doesn’t want to shatter the illusion that he's being held here so he leaves it in the way. 

He looks down, self amazed at the dildo coming out shining and disappearing inside him and the sticky stream of precum soaking into his burgundy shirt. He glances up to look at toes curled, the tight lines of his legs. The fantasy of being held down is forgotten as instinct takes over and he uses his free hand to squeeze his balls and press calloused fingertips against his stretched out hole, his eyes rolling back in his head as he digs his knuckles into the sensitive stretch of skin between the two. 

He loses sense of what he's doing and just moves, rocking his body and taking shaky heaving breaths, climbing higher and higher, completely lost in the moment. He can feel that he's about to come but he can't get there, the pleasure keeps swelling and he lifts his legs into the air, tensing his muscles to try and hold himself here, knowing he can't stop or he'll lose the thread and he wants this, he wants this. 

"Callum," he calls out his name into the empty office and then again and again and again _CallumCallumCallumCallum_ like a prayer, like a plea. He comes hard, stars behind his eyes hard with Callum's name caught in his throat and the image of him naked and glistening. The ecstasy spreads outwards from down deep, starting from where the dildo is pressed against that spot inside him and from the friction burning him up and then out, heavy and glowing through to his stomach and down to his toes and along into the small bones of his wrist. Callum’s name doesn’t even sound like a name anymore, it sounds like an answer.

He comes down with a thud, his muscles going slack and nearly throwing him out of his chair forcing him to scrabble around to get his feet on solid ground. 

"Fuck," he laughs. 

He plonks the dildo down on the table top and manages to stumble over to the couch on shaky legs, yanking up his boxers before he falls on it thinking of how many people have sat on it over the years 

He hears moaning and remembers his phone jammed between him and the backrest and swipes the video away reckoning that there's nothing more repugnant than porn after you've come.

He blinks at the bright screen of his phone. There's a text from Callum. He opens it, _Just thought I’d say goodnight x_ and then another _Sleep well x_

Ben can feel Callum's longing or maybe it's his own.

He sends back, _Sweet dreams x_ and almost immediately Callum replies with, _You too x_ as if he was sitting holding his phone and waiting. Shit.

Reality sets back in. 

Ben pulls up his jeans and cleans up, turns off the radio. His legs are jelly but he’s good to walk round the corner. Everyone's already asleep when he gets in which never fails to come as a relief.

He goes straight to his bedroom after taking a piss even though he should definitely shower and strips down to his underwear before looking at his phone again. _Just thought I'd say goodnight x_ With nobody to see, knowing nobody will ever know, he hugs his phone to his bare chest.

The last time they woke up together, Callum was touching him everywhere, a cartographer mapping out his body. He wants Callum to know him everywhere, he can’t tell him everything - there aren’t even words for half of it - but he can give him his body. 

This thing with Callum, it's not just lust, it's the buzz of not only being understood but felt, felt on every level. 

When his fingers dip into the shrapnel wound on Callum's side, his bullet wound itches. 

He climbs between the sheets, he hasn’t changed them since the first time Callum slept over, he knows he should but he can’t bring himself to. When he flips his pillow, he can smell him. It's only been two weeks and already that smell is a comfort like no other. 

He wraps his arms around the pillow and hugs it close and falls asleep with Callum on his mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!


End file.
